Hands
by stagetrinity
Summary: Adrien has a chance encounter with Marinette during a photo shoot. The whole incident leaves him a little more fixated than he should be - and a little more daring than he should be when Chat drops by for an unintended late night visit. little marichat / Adrinette
1. Chapter 1

Today has been a rough day, so I wrote some trash. This is part 1 - ends nice and clean. I'm debating a part 2 to...finish the job, so to speak, if anyone is interested in that.

There is this concept that blondes have more fun – 95% of my evidence gathered in my blonde life says that's a lie. Fun is usually a mystical illusion that hangs out in dark alleyways, and I have to bribe it with cheese.

I've spent most my life grappling with the concept of what it means to be free. 'Freedom' is this intangible concept, but pretty much the idea is always boiled down to one short phase: Freedom is doing whatever you want to do. That's pretty much it, tied up with a neat bow, stored on the top shelf of the tallest bookcase so that I can look at it, but don't touch.

We can look, but don't touch.

We can be seen but not heard.

We should be working, not playing.

We should be smiling, not frowning.

Frowning makes wrinkles, and wrinkles are bad for business, Adrien. Smile Adrien, Pose Adrien, Move Adrien, Sit Still, Adrien, Do it again, Adrien.

"Adrien!"

I blinked, my eyes taking a moment to focus. I glanced down to see a stranger adjusting the pants I have on, and I found myself trying to swallow a laugh as I realize how desensitized I've become to someone messing around with my body. Perks of the job I guess. I don't remember when I learned to turn it off, exactly, but I do remember one day just being so frustrated by the amount of people that were poking and prodding me that I squeezed my eyes shut with the force of a bear trap – throwing my mind to weird, empty places. Things I couldn't ever imagine getting to do in my actual life – Otherwise known as fun things.

At least that's how it used to be - until the past couple of years. Nighttime was for almost nothing but freedom now, so I spent most of my days thinking about the cool air of Paris, rushing against my face as I moved through my city. The starts, the scents – the feeling of being alive. Visions are blurs of red, flashes of lips, wisps of dark pigtails bobbing nearby.

I grimaced as a comb was tugged through my already massively gelled hair, breaking me from my thoughts.

"Adrien!" I directed my attention to where my name was called again, seeing a slightly agitated look in the photographer's eyes.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," I sighed, striding over to where the set was ready to go. These ridiculously baggy pants contrasted with the weirdly cinched belt that was resting right up on my natural waist. We were selling scarves, so of course I was currently shirtless because fashion. My fingernails had been painted what I guess was supposed to be an edgy, glossy black of some sort, matching the dark black of my damned balloon pants. One more assistant darted over to adjust the scarf around my neck, making sure it had the casual elegance of someone who never wore a scarf for practical reasons. I took my place. As soon as the first flash popped, my body went into muscle memory fluidity, and I effortlessly slid into my motions. My brain had already departed the station again, high tailing it after my Lady and her wind kissed cheeks, red and flushed from movement. I let my brain wonder, my body move.

A bottle of water was pressed into my hand as the crew reviewed a few of the shots. "Alright crew, we need to switch out the scarf and adjust the waistband. See if we can get them to sit a little lower, show some more tone so we can do some stretch poses."

I sipped my water, standing patiently as the scarf around my neck slipped off to be replaced with a dark green number. I stood a moment more, then realized a pair of petite hands trembling close to my waist band. I blinked, adjusting my gaze to focus on the assistant.

"It's fine, I promise. I'm used to it, so no need to – Marinette?" I spluttered on the water bottle I was holding, my eyes skimming taking in the flushed cheeks and downcast eyes of Marinette, her hands still paused. I coughed into the crook of my arm, trying to regain some composure. "Marinette, hi!" I breathed, a grin creeping onto my face. "When did you start here?" I gestured to the studio, which basically served as my home away from home.

"I…Last week, summer internship. I wasn't expecting to take of your pants!"

I blinked, her eyes darting up in panic as she seemed to register what she said. "I don't mean yours specifically, I mean men's pants. I thought I'd just be helping with basic things, not-"

"Pants! Come on guys, let's get him adjusted so we can go!"

She blanched, and I couldn't keep in the chuckle. "I can fix them myself," I whispered, feeling for the belt buckle nestled in the fabric of the pants, which proved a harder task to do one handed. I glared at the water bottle I was holding, contemplating just dropping it. The heft of the scarf was like a giant fur entity on my chest, and I had no clear view of my feet or chest.

"Assistant, you're hired to assist. Get with the assisting! We don't want to mess up his nails," hissed from across the room. Marinette flinched, and something in me flared.

"Give me your hands," I mouthed as I set the bottle of a small table nearby. I held my hands out with the palms up, and she hesitantly slid hers over mine. I took a sidestep so she was in front of me, my body blocked partially by hers. Guiding a classmate's hands to your belt so she can help you unbuckle it feels strangely intimate, and I felt a heat rise in my neck as she helped me fumble with the buckle.

"I can do it," she whispered finally, her fingers trembling as she managed to loosen the belt. "You're going to chip the polish."

"No really, Marinette, you shouldn't have to."

"This is my part of job. I mean, it's not something I thought was in my description, but I'm going to do my job." Her voice was resolved, her hands sliding to my hips and hesitantly pulling the bunched elastic down from where it rested at my natural waist.

"Crouch, let me see," she was instructed, and I realized for the first time I was actual acutely aware of a person's head being near my crotch. "Lower them more to his hips, and buckle it back up. We're going to go into some stretches, use the scarf as if we're part of your body."

I nodded, taking a large gulp as I felt my pants slide down on my hips thanks to the hands of Marinette, whose face was still oddly close to my crotch. I willed my body to go into its not reacting phase, which was a lot harder (pun intended) said than done as she worked to finished the buckle and secure my pants once more.

"Perfect!"

She nodded in response to the feedback, her face almost as red as the scarf I had worn when I first started. She quickly slipped off to the side and out of site, and I found myself unable to call after her as the flash from the camera began again in full force.

I tried to slide my brain back into fantasy Adrien land, but that particular section was currently undergoing renovations that mainly focuses on the sensation of Marinette's hands and they slowly tugged at my pants, the feeling of her nails just noticeable through the fabric as – oh God, maybe it was sheer luck these pants were so baggy.

I hadn't intended things to as they had the rest of the day, but every spare moment I paused to take a breath, my brain was flooded with blushing Marinette now. I tried to tell myself it was just my starvation for human contact – which, true or not, did not give me permission to inflict my lusty desperations onto a classmate. I groaned from my perch, having learned already that leather isn't as forgiving as other fabrics when it comes to certain thoughts. I stretched against the roof I had taken perch on ( a very certain roof because I'm a masochists I suppose), letting the cool air whip around me. The night was clear, and I sighed, trying to ponder what to do in this situation. I'd see her again at work, I couldn't escape that. Or school.

I heard the sound of a door creak, and I quickly shifted so I could just peer over the edge of the roof I was on. She appeared in a fluid movement as she pulled herself up the ladder, her loose hair caught in the breeze. She was dressed in nothing but a pair of pale pink shorts and a tanktop, one of the straps trailing down her shoulder. She walked the short distance to the railing, paused, then took a seat in the small lounge chair, facing away from me. I could see the top of her head, and her body as she laid back. For her to see me, she have to turn her head all the way upside down, but I kept quit just in case.

I watched her for a moment, feeling inherently dirty at my spying. She seemed to be worrying over something from the way she'd occasionally shift her body, more so confirmed from the soft groan she gave as she dug her palms into her forward. She seemed to be muttering, but those were lost to me as the breeze carried them the opposite direction.

She was still for a moment more, my breath catching as I watched her trail her hand down to the waistband of her pants. She paused, then tentatively slid her fingers under the fabric, sliding her leg up as she did so.

Sher jerked her hand away no more than a moment later, quickly jumping from the chair and pacing the balcony.

I quickly and quietly pulled myself back, biting back on obscenity as I realized just has sleezey I had been being. If she had actually gone on to touch herself, was I just going to be a creep who sat and watched while rubbing myself?

Or I could I just be a sleezy jerk on the balcony and we could do it together? I laughed harder on my joke than I'd meant to, and I cursed as I heard a soft voice ask, "Is…is someone there?"

To say I hadn't talked to Marinette as Chat before would be a lie, and it seemed best to come clean now rather than be eaten by my guilt. I quickly dropped from the small section I was occupying, landing with a fluid grace on the balcony.

"Evening, princess," I purred, plastering on a grin as I straightened myself, trying to casual pose to hide certain uninvited guests.

"Chat Noir." Her eyebrows furrowed just slightly, a minimal pout curling on her lips. "Any particular reason you're on my balcony at 1 a.m?"

"Isn't seeing you reason enough?" I teased, thinly veiled honestly present. I grinned.

She sized me up, hands resting on her hips. "It doesn't normally warrant a visit…"

"It's the purrfect weather for a chat!" I wiggled my eyebrows under my mask, plastering on a dopey grin, hoping to break the ice.

Relief washed over me as she rolled her eyes, grinning. "Fine. I was awake anyway. So what's new in the world of Paris's best kitty cat?"

"Pets," I blurted.

"What?"

"Pets. Paris's best kitty cat is severely lacking in the pet department. I get no love," I sighed dramatically, dropping down to take the seat she'd just been in. I tried to block out the memory of what she'd almost done in the chair as I glanced over at her.

"That's being a tom cat," she joked, but she obliged me by running her fingers against my scalp, which helped to appease my need for touch.

I wasn't fibbing when I said I was no stranger to the balcony, and I did occasionally wrangle some head rubs from Marinette. This wasn't anything new. That was all based on a quick passing acquaintance sort of thing, and it wasn't like we were strangers. I knew Marinette well. Which was why any transition to "let me touch you" was a rather large obstacle when I was Chat. It wasn't as though I could ask her to take off my pants without it sounding weirder than it did earlier.

"You alright?" she asked, her fingers stalling. I opened my eyes, realizing I had squeezed them shut pretty hard.

"Just had a lot on my mind today."

"Me too," she murmured, resuming her massage to my scalp. I grinned, some secret part of me hoping she'd dwelled about what had happened today as well.

I blinked, realizing she'd stopped abruptly. I opened my eyes, looking up to find her face flushed as it had been earlier.

"Marinette?"

"I'm sorry!" she blurted, covering her face with her hands. "I wasn't trying to look, I just -!"

Confused, I glanced down – a large laugh escaped, the pure absurdity of the scenario coming to a rather literal head as once again my body betrayed me. "Why are you embarrassed?"

"I just – I wasn't trying-!"

"I think at this point, you don't really have to," I admitted, glaring down at my body. It had betrayed me.

"What do you mean?" she groaned, and I gently pulled her hands from her face.

"You have a way with your hands," I explained, grinning widely. "So much so, it leaves in impact."


	2. Chapter 2

I've been catching up on season 2, so more filth ! This ended up not getting all out dirty, but I may do a deleted scene sort of thing not solely from Adrien's point of view. Can't see him explicitly describing his sexy dirty-dos.

* * *

Marinette's face flushed almost crimson at my words, her mouth gaping opening for a moment before she began to babble. "I don't – I'm so sorry! I just-!"

I sighed heavily, giving a defeated smile as a gave a quick squeeze to her hands. "Don't be upset over it. It's not like you did anything wrong. If it makes you feel better, I can go."

I released her hands, moving to swing my legs from the chair and head off to the oh so glamorous task of a cold shower mingled with intense guilt and shame.

"No! Stop!"

I paused abruptly, her voice so suddenly demanding that I obeyed with no questions. My hands were gripping the sides of the chair, still tensed to push my body up.

"Marinette?"

"You can stay! I mean, if you want to. I can still give you," she hesitated, her face almost radiating the heat from it. She seemed to be looking for somewhere to settle her gaze, and I felt a surge when she finally settled on my eyes. Her voice was slightly quieter as she finished with "pets."

I blinked rapidly, my eyes searching over her face. "Let me see if I understand this. You want to…pet me?" I could already feel my body screaming triumphantly as my brain tried to rationalize the situation and not get carried away. It would be wrong to take advantage of a misunderstanding.

She nodded in response. "I mean – you just seem like you were enjoying getting your head scratched. I don't mind, if it makes you feel good."

Oh God. The words weren't even a dirty sentence, and she wasn't in anyway saying it seductively. She was just standing there beet red, one arm crossed across her chest as it rubbed the other awkwardly, slightly pressing against her chest- shit. "It only has to be my head – like, head head," I clarified awkwardly, pointing to my ears and not the entity that wanted to burst forth from fabric like the alien. "Only if you want to do that. I won't make you, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't want you to…" my voice trailed off as she reached her hand out to run her nails across my scalp. I closed my eyes, the sensation amplified by fact I never got touched by anyone – aside from Chloe. She took a step closer, switching to both hands and she continued to rub and tussle my hair. I felt my body start to relax a bit right up until she took another step closer still, her hand switching to include my neck in the rubbing. That in itself wasn't a problem, but my position sitting on the chair had my face in closer proximity to a pair of breasts shielded by only a thin layer of material. I tried to focus my vision elsewhere, darting a glance up at her face to see if she was aware. He face had a look of concentration on, her hands continuing their paths through my hair and my neck. I had no other exposed skin, so she focused her attention on those areas, her fingers dipping under the collar. I tried to keep mu purr reigned in, almost losing it as she trailed her fingers around to my Adam's apple, her fingers pausing hesitantly as she reached my bell.

"You can always move on to tummy rubs, I promise not to scratch," I attempted to joke, hoping to ease her mind if she were uncomfortable. Much to my surprise, she took my offer literally and I felt the cool air against my chest as she tugged at my zipper. It ended, unfortunately, right at my navel. I sucked in a gulp of air, my brain flashing back to earlier events of my shirtless body and her hands. I tried to rack my brain in a panic on the off chance there could be any marks to give away that it was the same chest she'd seen – but then again, perhaps I was assuming she'd been more interested than reality. Her hand slid down against my chest, and I reluctantly caught her wrists with my hands. "Princess, Marinette," I managed, trying to focus my thoughts. "I'm not forcing you into this. You are in no way obligated to oblige me with pets, despite how wonderful this is."

She lowered her eyes to meet my gaze, her eyes no longer full of the shyness of earlier. "I know, Chat. But…have you ever just…. Needed to touch someone?"

Fuck yes I had. "I have, princess."

"You can touch me, then." She grinned mischievously, and for a moment I had a flash to Ladybug with an identical smile. Guilt started to creep in, and as much as I was attracted to Marinette, would it be betraying my lady if I touched her? I had often fantasized situations like this one with her.

I tried to think of a way to gracefully bow out before I got myself too deep, past the point of no return.

"As much as I really want to – I do, I'm all claws." I released her hands, wiggling my own permanently gloved one in response.

"Simple solution – take them off."

Her suddenly rough tone tugged at different emotions, and I stuttered, "you mean de-transform?"

"Why not?"

"Secret identities- key word, secret!" I retorted, pushing back from her in the chair. She pursued me by following, suddenly straddling me. Her body poised above mine made it a tempting option, then something clicked in me. "Cat's outta the bag?"

"You have a small birthmark right above your belly button," she said with an apologetic grin. She leaned back, her hips still poised above mine. "Hi, Adrien…"

I _really_ needed to touch her.

"Plagg," I snapped, and a familiar haze of green light flickered around us. Her eyes widened for a brief moment, as if she had been somewhat unsure of her assumption. I felt my cheeks flush as her eyes widened for a completely different reason, my erection back in full force and no longer confined by leather but only by worn out gym shorts I'd left the house in.

Since the secret was out, I tossed out a joke for good measure. "I'm still in market for kitty pets."

Her eyes narrowed, and let herself drop back forward, her body only inches from me. He loose hair fell forward, tickling the skin of my cheeks. She leaned her lips down to my ear, and I could feel my body tingle. "You want to know a secret?"

I managed a nod. "Follow me." She sat up quickly, sliding herself from my body and gesturing for me to follow her. I looked around hesitantly before descending the ladder behind her. "Come here." She patted the edge of her bed where she had settled down. I slowly took a step over and sat down.

She took a breath, fell back onto the bed and whispered something to the mass of stuffed animals on her bed. A flash of light that lasted a split second abated to reveal my lady. I gaped.

Another flash of light revealed Marinette sitting on her bed, a small pink kwami hovering over her shoulder. "Cat go your tongue?" she joked with a hesitant smile.

I am a horrible person because the confirmation ladybug herself had asked me to touch her no more than five minutes sent my libido back into overdrive and I unintentionally launched myself across the bed, pinning Marinette in a bear hug. She let out a small squeak as I pulled her against me, a surge of unabated happiness coursing through me. "You're perfect!" I gasped before extracting myself from the hug and pushing myself back against the wall.

She blushed again, evident in the moonlight that trickled through the windows. "Me?! You're the perfect one! My partner is the one and only model Adrien Agreste! And I manhandled him." She gasped I sudden shock, as if the realization finally actually hit her. "I was teasing outside, I didn't mean to-"

"So are you rescinding you offer to touch?" I joked. "Because considering the day we've had, what with you undressing me –"

"No."

"What?"

"You can still touch me."

I didn't have to be asked again. I slid forward, my hands finding their way to her cheeks. The trailed down her arms, taking in ever small detail. I touched her arms, her neck, her face. She opened her eyes, her mischievous smile back. "I _said_ you could touch me."

"I am," I laughed as my fingers trailed down her arms. She caught my wrists with her hands, taking no time in placing them directly on her breasts. My brain went into total shutdown panic mode before shutting down completely. However, as stereotypical as it sounds, my body was fully geared and charged from plan B thinking.

My hands took no more than a split second respond to their given task, sliding to cup her breasts gently as my thumbs made their way to her nipples. A small gasp escaped from her mouth, and I captured it with my own, one hand ceasing its roaming to take the back of her head as I roughly pressed my lips over hers. She responded eagerly, and I moved my hands down to her waist. Her slender frame was easy enough to move as I guided her toward the pillows, our previous straddling position switched. Her arm snaked their way around my neck, her nails sliding down my back to tantalize me once more with her nails. They slid back around to my stomach, moving up my chest. Everything felt charged.

As a gentleman, to describe in too much detail what continued to happen would be considered rude, so I'll refrain. I will say, however, the phrase "Cat got your tongue?" now has multiple different meanings in my book. Tongues are extremely versatile.


End file.
